


The case of The Camden Singer

by BlazingJaya



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Queerplatonic Relationships, band au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 05:33:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9370157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlazingJaya/pseuds/BlazingJaya
Summary: An uncomfortable John Watson returning from Afghanistan, takes a tip from his Therapist, runs into an old friend and suddenly gets swept into the life of one Sherlock Holmes.





	1. Chapter 1

John Watson was just over it. Sitting at the back of a dingy Camden pub, surrounded by fluttering teenagers wearing too much black lace and crushed velvet with no sense of irony whatsoever, he took a heavy swig of his overpriced Jack and Coke and sighed. What was he even doing here? He really needed to fire that therapist. “You’re 35, Johnny Boy” he muttered to himself. “This is not your world”. Making a decision, he stood to leave, but as he did so, the fluttering mass of teenagers surged suddenly, screaming.

  
The pub plunged into darkness, as a single figure stood on the stage at the front of the room lit by a single spotlight. Overly dramatic as entrances go, but, what else could you expect from a wanky Camden Goth Metal band? The figure on the stage- head down, wearing a coat with upturned collar, was silent. He stood- head bowed, still and silent until the audience stopped screaming.

  
Then he raised his head and swept the room with a gaze that was both chilling and analytical. John gasped. He might be Straight As They Come (except for those times with Rogers in Germany, his brain helpfully supplied) but the man on the stage was gorgeous. Carelessly tousled curls fell over his forehead, and the eyeliner messily ringing his eyes added to the (deliberately chosen) outfit, and manufactured air of mystery.

  
He started to sing.

  
And Dr John Hamish Watson, formerly of the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers, now of Camden Town just until things are settled, came undone.

  
Years later, in an interview John was asked what his first impression of Sherlock had been.

  
“I can’t describe it. There aren’t any words to describe it. It was just......  
It was a deeply spiritual experience, and I can only remember feeling like I had just discovered something profound, and sacred. And that I’d never be the same again”

He was right.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Afghanistan or Iraq?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is bewildered, Sherlock is arrogant, Molly is adorable

90 minutes later, drenched in sweat, tears and the nosebleed of the girl who took an elbow to the face (Ever practical John had pulled his emergency latex gloves out, and performed first aid till security could pull her over the barrier), John collapsed into the chair he had earlier abandoned and sucked down a bottle of water. 

The room was slowly emptying out- the perfectly styled teens he’d disparaged mentally had turned out to be reasonably spread across a range of 16 to early thirties, now they all looked somewhat limp, their previously -elaborate hair styles flopping, and eyeliner and mascara smeared everywhere. Checking his watch, he stood to leave again, and return to the dull, beige box of his temporary digs- a hostel in the backstreets of Kentish Town, run for discharged officers. He only had a week left on his lease. Tomorrow he would have to make a serious start on job hunting and flat hunting. It would have to be a flat share, he decided. There was no way on his paltry military pension he could afford to rent alone, anywhere inside Zone 6. 

Still focused on his phone, he almost tripped, and looked up apologetically at the guy stood in front of him “I’m so so-“ he started, grunting as he was swept into an emphatic hug

“John! John Watson! Look at you! I didn’t know you were back!”

Trying to collect himself and fight the urge to fight back- this is normal, civilian, relax, RELAX- John focused on the face.

“Mike Stamford! How are you mate? Wouldn’t have thought this was your scene”

Mike laughed loudly “favour for a friend- we know the singer. Came along to support him. Fancy a pint?”

“Alright then. Yeah. Just one”

“Brilliant! Let me introduce you to the gang” Mike cordially slung an arm around John, and hustled him over to a table in the main bar “ Guys this is John Watson- we trained at Guys together! Oh oh, this is Molly Hooper- she’s our pathologist, brilliant, and this is Mrs Hudson, and this is Greg, we’re all here to support Sherlock”

“Sherlock?”

“Ah, the singer- never knew he wore make up. Bit of a surprise. Oh, grab a chair, I’ll go grab some pints” 

John looked at the smiling faces in front of him. Strangers. Shit. Too late to back out now. What should he do? Sit down John you idiot, he mentally chided himself. 

“Hi. Err, nice to meet you all. Sorry, I didn’t realise Mike was here with friends, I just uh”

“Nonsense. It’s very nice to meet you dear. You’re a doctor too?”

“Yes. I just got back-“

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

The unwanted question was like a punch to the gyt. For a split second John swore the world had stopped, breath slammed out of him like head been tackled. The singer- he who apparently didn’t normally wear eyeliner, (he should, it looks great muttered Internal John, who was clearly drunk) had appeared- now he was stood in front of the table- arrogantly asking questions John didn’t want to answer, didn’t want to think on.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” he repeated. “Someone lend me their phone? I need to send a text?”

“Sherlock, I’m on a night off” warned Greg “Don’t you dare piss off Donovan, she’ll ruin my shift tomorrow”

Sherlock smirked “She shouldn’t be incompetent then” he quipped. “Anyway, phone- come on people”

John slowly handed over his phone “Here. Use mine and uh, it was Afghanistan. How did you?”

“Oh God don’t!” interjected Molly. “He’ll only start. Can’t even people watch anymore- Sherlock just works out what their secrets are. Ruins all the fun”. She giggled, and then leaned back against the seat. 

Sherlock handed the phone back to John. “I’m looking for a flatmate” he intoned. “You should come. Tomorrow. Noon”. He nodded, swept his coat on and stalked off, despite Mrs Hudson spluttering and his friends cries of “Sherlock!”

John looked at them all “Does he always do that?”. He gratefully took a swig of the beer that Mike had finally returned with. After a moment, he looked up and said “And where's the flat? Does he really need a flatmate?”

Mrs Hudson, patted him on the hand. “He does dear. And you’re very nice. I’ll make the bed in the other room up.” She stood to leave ”Come on Molly now. Greg you’ll see us home won’t you? And John Dear?”

“Yes Mrs Hudson?”

“221B Baker Street Dear. I’ll see you tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Right. This is what happens when you get head cannoned and suddenly you're writing QPP JohnLock.


End file.
